


Vacancy

by dumbasshoe



Series: KiteGon collection [2]
Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Drug Use, Guilt, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Seduction, Self-Medication, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-23
Updated: 2018-11-26
Packaged: 2019-08-28 07:31:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16719040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dumbasshoe/pseuds/dumbasshoe
Summary: Yeah, Kite isn't a youth anymore any way you look at it. But he feels it. Feels like he's been shown a secret when he looks at Gon and sees fluorescent reds, smells the sugar on his breath; It’s his own oasis, ripe and secret.Gon and Kite stay in motels during a road trip.





	1. Oasis

 

 

 

 

 

"Kite."  
  
"Hey. Kite."  
  
Gon wipes white hair out of the sleeping man's face. Leans closer, close as he can over the console between the driver's seat and the passenger's. "Kite, I need to ask you something."  
  
There's a brim of yellow light shining through the windshield from one of the parking lot's broken streetlamps, makes the red interior of Kite's rental look brown and the white of his hair dim yellow. It makes the world feel like something out of a tinted dream, and this collection of odd, memorable details gives an immeasurable sense of contentment--- like as they sit in this truck in this empty lot; as Kite blinks himself awake, time has stopped. Just for them and their trip.  
  
"Oh," Kite groans and rubs his eyes, "how long have I been out of it?"  
  
"Since we parked," Gon replies, wiggling his sock-covered toes. Sneakers kicked off onto the floor.  
  
"Oh. That's right," Kite sniffles and sits straight, "we were gonna rest a minute. Couldn't figure out where to get food..." He rubs his goosebump arms through his jacket, yawns and acclimates himself to this foreign state; consciousness, and has all the mere warning of a little sigh before Gon asks:  
  
"Kite, what's an orgasm?"  
  
Police sirens sound off somewhere in town, far away but so vibrant in this silent, nowhere place--- Its alarm is abrupt enough that Kite immediately checks all his mirrors. Wide-eyed. Then he looks Gon in the face.  
  
"Excuse me?" Squinting just a bit, Kite just woke up and the yellow light splits funny, shadows cut Gon's face right at the bridge of his nose so he can't see his eyes. "Where did you---"  
  
"Tv."

“And you want to know what it means?”

Gon picks at his nails, “I feel like I know what it might mean but I want you to tell me.”  
  
"Ah..." Kite wets his lips. "Um. An orgasm. Is..." His brows come together in a focused look; how does he explain to Gon what should have already been taught to a boy his age?  
  
"...Is like a little death..." Kite trails off staring into the dashboard, the seatbelt he passed out wearing suddenly feeling restrictive.  
  
"A little death," Gon repeats curiously. "Huh. Is it dangerous? How do you get it?"  
  
"Uh,"  
  
“Will I get one?"  
  
"Ahhh..." Kite pulls his seatbelt like a tight collar, sips a sharp inhale. "Gon, forgive me, but I just woke up. Could you ask later?"  
  
It's a mistake to use the word 'later' because Gon will most definitely remember to ask later, at an equally inopportune time, but Kite has never been able to deny him anything. Gon nods at his request.  
  
"Okay." He sits up on his knees to lean against the dash and gaze out the glass, arch his back in a youthful fidget. "Can we go get some food now?"  
  
Kite blinks again, checks his watch. "It's almost midnight. Let's see what's open," he suggests, turning the keys to let the engine roll over and roar to life. "Put your belt on."  
  


 

 

 

 

  
  
Neon red, a fever dream glows on the borders of town. Kite knows these cities from years of truck driving but admits he's never seen this old diner.

 _Oasis_ . It’s got little neon palm trees dancing next to the name and a big **'OPEN 24 HOURS'** sign that buzzes and flickers bright crimson, unmissable, Gon had gotten a red nose from smushing his face up against the cold glass in awe.  
  
As Kite parks and turns off the truck, he eyes Gon's bare legs. The summer boy and his bias for shorts. "Wouldn't you rather wear pants? Did you pack spare clothes?"  
  
"Ah, well," he gives a shy smile, "it was only going to be three days driving? And I didn't realize how cold it would be up here, so, heh..."  
  
Despite himself, Kite laughs. Ruffles his black hair something affectionate. "You're gonna be chilly." Maybe they can get him warmer clothes when stores open, nothing he wouldn't already have waiting at his dad's house but need is need.  
  
“Will you carry me inside?"  
  
Not even a please. Such big eyes, Kite finds himself nodding yes.  
  
He walks around to Gon's side, door swings open and when the boy leans into him arms outstretched, Kite is so captive to the sight of his earnest, youthful expression of want that he doesn't think the idea odd, not at all. Of course I'll carry you, Gon. Anything, Gon.  
  
"You're heavy," Kite mutters, cloud of breath being carried away by a biting breeze. He bumps the door closed with his hip.  
  
“Good," Gon replies. He smiles coy, turning to gaze up at the neon trims, trying to peer through the dewy windows of the restaurant from across the small parking lot. "This place is cool."  
  
Staring at Gon's chapped mouth while he speaks, Kite thinks to adjust him in his grip when he shivers. Just a little, he's not quite close or warm enough, not as much as he could be, so Kite bumps him up at the underside of his thigh. Pulls from around his back and wraps his big hand into Gon's chest in this bridal-style hold. Close. Plush legs, soft, but don't think about that.  
  
With an exhale of contentment, Gon curls his arms around Kite's neck, curls closer, like he's taking hold of the reins--- his cold fingers playing with hair at the base of Kite’s neck, it’s him commanding them forward. Kite walks.  


 

 

 

 

  
Vinyl coats the scarlet booths. Gon picked this one, and it's the only one with rips and tears from years of use, and abuse and forks and knives, has sponge foam bursting out its wounds like blood. The color of the walls, of this night, red is Kite's tired eyes and their cold noses, the cherry in Gon's milkshake. It's the color Kite sees when he looks at Gon, shrouded by the light of a tinted lamp that hangs above them, between them.  
  
This booth is torn and bleeding and old, but Gon pops the cherry onto his tongue like it's only a minor detail.

All the while Kite sips his coffee absently, trying to decide if they should drive through the night or stop and rest. Without the godawful daytime traffic it's too worth it to keep driving. He looks up to see the cherry stem rolled between the boy’s teeth and lips, too much of a distraction. Kite rubs his face in a tired sigh. Too much.  
  
Make conversation. "What did your mom have to say about you coming on this trip?" Kite didn't really mean to ask _this_ question, but it tumbled out of his mouth so naturally.  
  
"Mm," he plucks the stem out his mouth and drops it onto the plate, "she's happy you're taking me to visit my dad, but, she didn't really want me to come."  
  
"Why's that?"  
  
"She thought it would be dangerous."  
  
Dangerous. It's a hint of defense coating his tone, "I-I would never let anything happen to you, Gon." The mere idea--- kidnapping, car accident, it's a foul red--- Kite feels the ghost of his seatbelt cinching around his neck. “Your mother knows that.”  
  
"Yeah, I know." The boy leans his cheek onto a flattened hand, picks chunks out of the pancakes he forked into mush after eating his fill. "But like, she didn't mean you, she meant me, I think."  
  
"How do you mean?" Kite tips his mug for another sip.  
  
Gon shrugs, "I think she thinks I _like_ you."  
  
Kite coughs, coffee sputtering out and dripping onto the table, down his chin.  
  
"Oh!" Gon scrambles for the balled up napkins he used up eating his pancakes. "Are you okay?"  
  
Clearing his throat and dabbing the napkin along his jaw, wet neck, jacket, Kite discards his cap to run an anxious hand through his hair. It's all too red, too tired, too much.  
  
"Kite...?"

  
"Good morning! You folks doin’ good? Need a refill?"  
  
Kite looks up at the bright older waitress, nods quickly and holds out his mug. Gon watches him closely.

"Thank you," he mumbles before gulping down the black coffee. Too hot! but hell, let it scald his throat.  
  
"Not a problem! Flag me down if you two need anything!" With that the woman leaves as she came. Vanishing as though nonexistent beyond the red light of this booth. But then, Kite's eyesight isn't all that reliable, not now that he's old and sleep-deprived and his heart is beating faster than the generational pop music playing in the background. Is any of this real?

  
Only a minor detail.  
  
"Kite?" Gon prods softly.  
  
"Hm?"  
  
"Are you mad?"  
  
He looks up, mouth open. Oh, no. No, don't be silly. "Why do you ask?"  
  
Gon shrugs again, a bit of insecurity visible in his tense shoulders. "I'm sorry."  
  
Don't be. "What for?"  
  
"For making you uncomfortable," Gon says. Ineffable sentiment in his big eyes.  
  
"I'm not." There are many words. Uncomfortable doesn't belong. "Gon, answer me something."  
  
"What is it?" He leans forward, eager to redeem himself and bury this shame he's conjured from nothing.  
  
"Do you?"  
  
His dark brow raises in confusion. "Do I what?"  
  
Kite inhales. "Do you _like_ me?"

 

 

 


	2. Pills

 

 

 

 

 

 

The wet highway glows, like the numbers on the car's clock: _**1:03**_. Weeping streaks of red and yellow from brake lights, city luminescence, windshield wipers dance their back and forths calm and slow because the rain is weightless and gentle. Its lack of force makes Kite uneasy.

Gon said no.

Kite exhales red, blows out shame and fog and fear, anger at himself. As he veers into a different lane, blinker ticking, he blinks away the anxiety he blended for himself, a spectacular cocktail for a miserable man. Who is he? Where is he right now? There's a glowing boy snoring in the back seats, lovely even with his mouth wide open. He doesn't deserve it, but he'll take what kindness he can get from the universe.

This aforementioned anxiety does a swell job of keeping Kite on his figurative toes, wide awake, he needs no excitable teenager putting his bare feet up on the dash and singing along loudly and badly to overplayed radio hits to keep him going. And actually, it’s good that he's alone right now. Kite drops his head, then raises with furrowed brows;

God. What would have happened, if Gon had said ‘ _yes?_ ’ Would he have thrown the table's contents onto the floor and crawled across it? Would he have flushed red, or laughed or looked away in shame? That outcome is most plausible.

This is all folly prospect and ridiculous at that. Gon simply means what he said; _No_ , and little does it matter, anyway. The rain picks up as Kite’s mind lingers in that diner, where he must have coughed out his brain along with the coffee.

They could arrive at Ging's by dusk tomorrow if they took no breaks, and maybe that would be best.

Or maybe, maybe it wouldn't.

“Mn…”

Kite eyes his rear-view at the little noise. Gon is deep asleep, comfy across his makeshift bed of piled jackets and an old blanket. Kite lets himself loosen a bit at the sight of him, lets out a reserved smile of fondness and returns focus to the rainy road. Everything is a-okay, just drive.

Then Gon makes another sound in his sleep,

“ _...mm…Kite…_ ”

That was a moan. It takes a second, for it to register.

Kite can see the minute shuffling in his periphery and it hits; takes him all of another second to garner up the will and look into the mirror---

Gon is breathing heavy, rolling his hips into his bundled arms where he's curled into the blanket he borrowed. Hidden, secret and asleep but that movement and those noises are oh-so clear in this silent truck. Kite's name slips past his slack mouth again in a sweet moan--- and thunder booms in the sky, startles the staring man back into looking at the road.

Flame burns up his neck and into his cheeks, warms his ears, overheated. He turns off the car heater and flicks on the radio, unsure whether he wants to risk waking Gon up but too unable to endure any more sonorous moans of his name.

There's a sharp spiral of whimpers, Gon's face crushed into the seat as he ruts. Don't look. Hips rolling a little faster. The rain is beating down now and Kite turns the wipers up a gear or two to accommodate. _Don’t look._ There's steam on the windshield and he doesn't know who to blame. _Turn up the radio, you fool!_

Lightning cracks on the horizon.

The car ignites in a brilliant blue instant of fractured light, fades back to artificial red, and the radio cuts out to static.

Gon sighs big and final, body coming to a still. The blanket has fallen away some in his movement, and he can't help it anymore; Kite looks.

Legs, thighs, jostled blanket--- _Wet_. There's a glimmer on his inner thigh, below the seam where Gon's shorts end. His shirt stays lifted up to his ribs, soft tummy exposed. Kite swallows heavy; steely eyes roam right, up to Gon's face.

  
How long have his eyes been open?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  
It's very easy to lie in the nighttime. It must be the neons or the crickets, or the sense of camaraderie with the fallen angels roaming alleys and streets and red diners and backseats because it's all too easy to pretend---especially for Kite, a gifted poker face---that all is right and well. It's harder to hide his red ears than it is to merely speak.

"It's cold," Gon shivers, teeth chattering noisily in his animation.

**_1:59_ **

Kite reaches a long, stiff arm to the backseat, groping blindly for the abandoned blanket. Drops the cloth onto Gon's lap like hot coals when he finds it.

“Thanks,” he giggles, like nothing. Kite keeps holding his breath.

Gon got up a few minutes ago, several minutes after the lightning struck, groaning tiredly about the chill and mumbling random hopes that he'll be taller than his dad when he grows up. He climbed back to the front seat and now he's filling the silence with details about his mother's car and a story about rain, but Kite can’t look at him for more than a second consecutively, else he lose focus on the road completely. It's just their luck to be caught driving in a storm.

“What if we stopped by a motel?”

“What?” Kite questions, loudly.

He takes his eyes off the road to glare at Gon. But softens, realizes what he said and how he said it when Gon's expression is one of shock. “M’sorry,” he mutters.

“Well you said it,” Gon counters.

“Said what?”

“That it’s ‘just our luck to be caught driving in a storm’.”

He said that? Out loud? “Oh. Yeah…” His fingers trill at the wheel, he wets his lips. “No. I think we could make it through the night.”

“Why risk it?” Gon swoops his legs up onto the seat, “You need sleep.”

A little semblance of a laugh might slip out; Gon said it so professionally. And he's very right. Even though Kite wanted to make miles he doesn't think more coffee will get him through it.

He sighs. “Yeah. We shouldn't push it.” He flicks his blinker on and makes for the exit coming up, adding, “It's not safe.” But somehow the fatal risk of driving on the verge of complete exhaustion still sounds less risky than renting a motel room. Kite doesn't mark this instinctive thought as anything strange. What would be so fearsome about spending the night?

“Cool! I wanna see if there's a jacuzzi.”

Smirking, Kite tells him, “If we’re sleeping then there won't need to be.” Silly.

Gon rolls his head to knock and lean against his window. “ _If_ we’re sleeping.”

Kite stills. Almost misses his upcoming right.

What the fuck does that mean, Gon?

When they come to stop at a main road intersection, Gon gasps suddenly, as though having realized something incredible. “Can I pick where we stay?”

Hell, Gon could pick his coffin. “Fine.” He might have to if he doesn't gain self-awareness by sunrise.

 

 

 

 

  
His hair is greasy when he pulls his cap off. He slips off his jacket too and winces at the stiffness in his shoulders, scrunches his nose at the dampness of his back, a consequence of hours driving. Definitely a shower.

Gon ran and threw his bag onto the bed when they keyed in, had shoved past and hurried into the bathroom first thing, laughing. Like, ha! Beat ya! It had amused Kite almost enough to distract him from his stresses; only almost. Kite utilizes this alone time to change into pajamas and brush his hair out before collapsing onto a bed.

Minutes pass hazy and blurred, this exhaustive state has his bloodshot eyes watery and unblinking, though unhealth is no stranger to Kite. Everything about this moment takes him back to when he'd begun doing truck routes in his early 20s, before the heart problems and the stench of menthol stained into his hair.

When the muffled shower spray turns on, he clicks a remote he found on his bedside table, sits up in bed to watch the little tv across the room blink to life. Switching channels until he finds something either numb enough or interesting enough to rest at---eventually the nat-geo channel---he does try to watch, but his head is weightless and swarming with nothings; plays that deafening ring of claustrophobic silence on repeat.

Fruitless efforts. Kite _tries_ to ponder whether he can excuse what’s happened tonight long enough to forget about it, or at least only until the trip is over, but it's blurry. Blurry like the animal special displaying flocks of birds or the toothpaste commercial that comes after it. Hazy, numb. And,

Kite can keep _trying_ to excuse these things Gon does to coincidence or ignorance or product of naïvete, but he _knows_ better, knows Gon knows better. His theory is solidified minutes later; because for Gon to come out of the shower in only a pitiful, motel-provided mini-towel is nothing short of premeditated. Kite thinks he's merely playing himself along, puppetmaster in predilection, he can't get Gon's soft, sleepy moans out of his head, but this is deliberate. It can’t be, must be. His wet, bare skin is haunting.

Especially when the dripping boy bends over to dig into his bag on the bed, towel riding loose and lower on his waist in the movement. Dimples, hips, lower.

Kite doesn't realize he's turned his head to stare until Gon says, as though talking to himself, “The hot water is so nice. Feels good after all day in the car.”

Haunting. Kite bristles, stands with a soft clearing of his throat and walks to the bathroom without a word. When the door shuts, he actually feels more exposed.

It's a quick, violent shower.

Hair! face! and everywhere else. Scrub harder, dead skin, red skin and disillusion and dilated pupils at the memory of Gon’s wet back. How about some soap in his eyes? He keeps spitting out glops of water when the spray fills his gasping mouth because his mind is already overflowing with other sacral images. Kite ignores the black strands of hair Gon stuck to the tile walls like they're a part of the design.

The shower stays on for a while longer, steam slipping beneath the door and fogging the mirror, dampening the porcelain sink and toilet. When he feels it's been long enough Kite shuts the faucet off and changes back into sleepwear. Sits on the rim of the tub and takes his time combing his hair.

Maybe if he sits here long enough, Gon will realize the kilig he seeks is less than romantic and reality is really more ridiculous. He might understand when he smells Kite's decay from inside this locked bathroom, that his impunity in pursuit of intimacy worked after all, but there is no happy ending for it because Kite is running out of words to deride him and as always, he's never been able to deny Gon a thing. Dare he ask, the world might reverse.

There's a vacancy in Kite that's never been satisfied, but he feels glimpses of contentment like he's never felt when he's with Gon.

Guilt, shame, sadness and other such sentiments fade away altogether when the kid smiles at him, as though he deserves it, as though he's as happy as Kite is just to know him.

If only he could give him what he wants.

After minutes and minutes, Kite finally comes out, the cool that hits his steamed skin feels nice. The lights are off, Gon is in bed. At this Kite sighs quiet relief between mint teeth, leaves the bathroom door open a sliver for light and heads to sit on the edge of his own bed.

A smoker and drinker by vice, Kite became addiction-free just for Gon and this trip. But it's been a whole day now and his head is going to explode, bottom lip will bleed if he keeps gnawing at it the way he is, so he settles on the sleeping pills from a more-than-a-year-old prescription he keeps in his bag; just to calm him down and shoo away these withdrawals. Glancing to the other bed, he tosses a pill back and swallows dry.

His breath adopts the taste of its chalky coating. And when it mixes with the taste of his mouthrinse, he tastes chalky, artificial mint fusion. Looking the bottle over with critical eyes, Kite throws the container back into his open bag on the floor with a shake of the pills. The offending bottle makes him look and feel older than he already feels, than he even is, stupid orange accessory. _Not even a necessity!_ more of a reliable discretionary, and what good timing---

“Kite.”

He looks up in surprise, over his shoulder at Gon. Quietly, “I woke you?”

“No, I wasn’t asleep.” The boy sits up in bed, hugging his knees. “What are you doing?”

Kite turns away, “I was about to go to sleep too.”

Gon stares at him. “But you can't, huh?”

He huffs an admission, and it's all Gon needs; there's rustling now, shuffling footsteps on the motel carpet, and Kite's bed is dipping. He refuses to look anywhere but straight down at his feet as Gon scooches to sit beside him, behind him. “Is there anything I can do?”

Yes. “No,” he responds seriously.

Gon's hands come to layer and rest on Kite's shoulder--- not in an intimate way really, but in the way a parent might comfort a child. “Are you sure?” But Kite can feel the heat coming off his palms and knows it's dangerous to linger by blue flames. His concerns are inflating and Kite is this close to dismissing him, it’s to be his first refusal of the boy and it has tangible weight to it, but perceptive Gon is quick and intrusive---

“Oh! What about a massage!” he suggests, taking locks of Kite's damp hair and beginning to fiddle with it from behind. “My mom used to give dad massages after he got off work.”

He leans a thin arm all the way forward, to unravel and steal the hair tie from around Kite's limp wrist, which rests at his thigh. Gon's soft knuckles graze Kite's calloused palm in the process, slide slothfully across. “I learned too,” he adds right next to Kite's ear.

There’s another boom of thunder from outside then that overtakes the audible impact of Kite's shudder. Thank goodness, because Gon’s little breaths are like fire against his bare neck. Kite's gaze is dead at his feet as Gon ties his long hair up in a very messy, very lopsided bun.

“It’ll feel nice! What d’ya say?” There's a pinch in his scalp from the way he wrapped the bun.

“Okay,” he relents, quietly.

It felt nice being touched, even if it was only his hair. “Just for a minute or two.” It's harmless, just a minor detail.

“Alright!”

Gon seizes his shoulders immediately and a clipped grunt leaves Kite's throat at being shoved back onto the bed. “Could you lay on your stomach?”

 

 

 

 

 

  
There's cushiony duvet bowled around his face. His eyes feel heavy, every blurry thing beyond this cloud of blankets is illuminated by scarce yellow light, it makes him think of the truck. Kite is trying to stay awake but Gon had lowered the volume on the tv to almost mute about five minutes in. It’s like the inside of a candle.

“Are you comfy?” Gon asks, lily voice lowered to a hush.

“W-well enough.” How much energy it took him just to answer.

Small hands press and prod, touching but surely not exploring; with Gon massaging him through the cotton of Kite's shirt it's very easy to melt, and Kite being abnormally skinny surely makes it easy on Gon, the strength he expends on tight muscle is just enough. In fact he feels so nice that he could sleep like this; In this state, idle mind and all, he's quite blind to the night's events. His own conflict and the haunt of Gon's sweet voice are faraway, until those soft hands of his cease suddenly... 

“Hold on,” Gon whispers, hopping off the bed, out of sight.

Quiet rustling… and then he’s not only back on Kite's bed but straddling his legs, sitting his weight on the backs of his upper thighs as he leans forward to continue.

Soft fingers come to fold in at the hem of Kite's shirt. “Relax.”

Because he commands it, Kite releases the breaths he holds. Lets his back redistribute the tension in his shoulders, loosen the stiffness in his legs at the weight of weightless Gon.

Uncapping something in the silence Gon tells him, “Ya know, I've never massaged anyone besides family.” He wiggles his hips in the slightest while adjusting to lean almost fully forward, face hovering somewhere over Kite's shoulder blade. “You're the first,” he adds.

Breath hitches sharp in Kite's throat when Gon yanks his shirt up to his neck. Slick, hot hands resume their work, except that now it's pressurized, skin-to-skin, Kite can feel thrumming through Gon’s fingertips but he may very well be imagining it. And that is enough reason to put a stop to this. “Gon, that’s---”

“Am I doing a good job, Kite?”

He asks so softly that Kite loses his steam. “Yes,” he answers with a gravelly voice.

“Huh?” Gon leans down close near his face, “You're muffled.”

Kite cranes his neck back, “You---” and Gon is right there. Right here, so close, eyes blooming and glazed and Kite can see his reflection in his pupils.

Too close. “Get back.”

Slow and confused, Gon does.

Then he continues with the massage like nothing, as though he didn't catch Kite's face contorting with all the conflict and misery his pill-induced vulnerability exposed, at the baiting he put out.

That's what all this is, right? one big trap. But Kite knew that, as soon as he saw the **VACANCY** sign. This is real, real, real. His heavy head drops back to Earth.

“Hey Kite?” Gon's slippery hands glide a path straight down his spine, bump over the discs.

“...Huh?”

There's a pinch when Gon applies hard pressure at a flat of tension in Kite's lower back, earns a mute hiss from the man. Gon's fingers linger there, dance down and over his bony hips, thumb grazing even lower and he asks again;

“What's a little death?”

 _Christ._ “...Why don't you look it up yourself?”

“I like when you teach me things,” Gon insists. He leans forward to rub up the sides of Kite's torso, hands gliding over his prominent ribs. Kite knows he's too skinny, he hopes Gon doesn't look on with too much disgust. But then, it would be for the best. “If it's bad I won't repeat it!”

Kite wets his lips. “It's a euphemism for orgasm. More like a phrase, actually--- That was your original question, right?” Gon hums an affirmative. “An orgasm is…” Kite trails off when Gon trails nails down his sides, ripping a full-body shudder from him. “Ah-- It’s…”

Gon leans ever forward, hips moving too, he straddles above Kite's bottom as his glossy hands rove back up and find territory by Kite's neck. “It occurs during sex…”

The collar of his rolled-up shirt is an obstacle from complete conquest, but a necessary block because it’s also the tether back to reality. “... _Ah_ …” This is a lost moment and it has no place in sunlight.

“Hey Kite?”

His hands now circle Kite's neck like rope and Gon is fully seated on his lower back. The pill has kicked.

“Y-yes.”

“Turn over.”

Kite's eyes peel open. “You have to get off me first.”

Gon slides to lay down on top of Kite, too slowly, and rolls off him. Then Kite turns over, every inch of him weighed down with sleep and thrumming with blood. He still feels little phantom hands all over. Maybe he's already asleep and this is one of those happy dreams he likes to forget he has.

“What?”

He can't keep them open because even the poor light from the humming bathroom is too bright, but he won't close his eyes.

Because Gon looks serious; like he's about to kill something, or cry.

“You okay?”

When Gon doesn't answer, or move or breathe, Kite blinks. “Gon---”

“I love you.”

 

He pulls his puffy lip between his teeth, begs, “Don't be mad. Please.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> thank you so much for reading!!! I appreciate u so much. If you liked it even a lil PLease leave a kudos or comment!!! Im a slut for feedback♡!! Motivates me :>
> 
> next chapter up on monday! Yeehaw


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